Foundation For Wedded Love
by TheImaginationAddict
Summary: After the elopement of Henry Crawford and his sister, Edmund was forever separated from Mary. How did he fall in love with his confidante,his dearest friend and cousin,Fanny,having been thinking of her all his life,as a sister? Canon.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer : All characters in this story belong to the inimitable Jane Austen. **

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Prologue

Of all the afflictions that a heart may be expected to endure in the course of a lifetime, the most number would seem to arise from the case of romantic love. The palpitations of anxiety, thrills of joy and agonies of pain which that unfortunate organ is subjected to, in such a state, are left to the imagination of those who have never had the opportunity to fancy themselves in love. However successful or unsuccessful one may be in having one's affections returned, it is generally observed that, apart from the company of one's beloved, the next best pleasure to be found is in describing their virtues, and feelings of the heart to a sympathetic confidante.

Fanny Price, in her role as confidante to her cousin Edmund, had heard more than she cared about Mary Crawford's excellent qualities, and the tenderness she inspired in his heart, to have made these observations about lovers in general; and while those confidences had pained her more than any other communication her cousin had shared with her over the years, she hadn't been induced to give up her regard for him – a love that, begun in innocence at his kindness to her since childhood, had only increased with the knowledge of his worth as they grew up. To hear a man one loved, praise another woman, to speak of _those_ feelings for another, not once or twice, but incessantly, may have put off a lesser woman; but Fanny, though pained by Edmund's blindness regarding Miss Crawford's true nature, loved him still; the knowledge, that he still valued _those_ qualities which ought to be valued, and was merely mistaken in assuming that Mary possessed them - was the reason for her continued respect. She loved him, and thus, while she may feel satisfaction that his eyes were opened to Mary's defects of character, she could not help grieving in his suffering now.

Edmund Bertram had certainly suffered a disappointment in love. To have the woman one loved, so snatched away for ever due to the actions of his sister and her brother, would cause pain of no small degree. The pain would probably have been lesser if he had been estranged from Mary by a deeper knowledge of her failings, than so forced by the machinations of fate, for nothing cures a disappointment in love, or infatuation, as the case may be, faster - than a righteous indignation of being deceived in the character of one's beloved. But this was not the case here; Edmund still hoped that Mary may have improved, may have come to think more like him after their union – and thus could only speak of her with pained regret.

This, then, was the state of mind of the cousins, at the end of a month after Fanny returned to Mansfield from Portsmouth. The manner in which the affection of two persons, so alike in disposition and tastes, with one already harbouring more than the required amount of love one felt towards a sibling and the other recovering from a broken heart, would develop - is of main interest to this author, and it is believed that the following chapters would satisfy all those who wished to see more of the increasing intimacy between Edmund and Fanny, but were thwarted by the reticence of their creator.

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**A/N : **I've always been dissatisfied with the fact that the love story between Edmund and Mary occupies nearly all of Mansfield Park, with Fanny and Edmund's being described scarcely in a paragraph. In this story, I mean to develop on the intermediate part of the tale, i.e, before Edmund reaches the following state of mind.

_Scarcely had he done regretting Mary Crawford, and observing to Fanny how impossible it was that he should ever meet with such another woman, before it began to strike him whether a very different kind of woman might not do just as well, or a great deal better: whether Fanny herself were not growing as __dear, as important to him in all her smiles and all her ways, as Mary Crawford had ever been._

_All reviews are welcome!_


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

'How oppressive even a scene of such aesthetic charm seems, when one is disinclined to appreciate it!' observed Edmund in stilted accents, one afternoon. They were seated beneath a tree in the grounds, having walked together for an hour; Edmund, lost in silent contemplation of the only subject his mind seemed capable of dwelling on those days, and Fanny, content to be silent likewise, her pleasure in his company unspoilt by his disinclination to speak. Indeed, she looked at him now with gentle compassion, and did not speak of her own pleasure in her environs; she had spent the past quarter hour looking about her with the deepest gratification, her every sense rejoicing in the natural beauty of the park in summer, the quiet peace that Mansfield contained, in comparison to the turmoil of Portsmouth, which she hadn't been able to appreciate since her return, due to her aunt's claim on her time.

'That such a sentiment, which provides such delight to one's heart, should also give such unbearable pain! I could almost wish Fanny, for your sake, that you never experience love, if only to spare you the pain which I now experience – but, no – I would not deny you that feeling of being held so dear. It must be the best wish of my heart to let you know only the affection of such a man who would not give you such grief, and for myself – a memory perhaps, of what could have been, had circumstances been different, or had Mary Crawford not been who she was-! Fanny, to love and to never have even a hope of attaining that love, to perhaps see in time, the object of one's affections promised to another – you cannot imagine what misery it would entail!'

She heard him out in silence, her eyes fixed on the slopes of the grounds in front, though once or twice, an expression of past sorrow remembered, crossed her features; he could not know how she had laboured under the same emotions he now described, for the past full year. She nearly smiled at the sad irony - she did not need to imagine, she knew all too well that sinking of the spirits, which such a disappointment would result in, but her only response was to softly say, 'I cannot console you with words of wisdom, other than which your own good sense must already provide you with, dear Edmund, and can offer nothing but the assurance of your family's affection; you must know how very dear you are to all of us, and paltry comfort though it may be, you must see how much estranged you would have become from us-' in a voice which was not quite steady '- if that event - your union with Miss Crawford, had already taken place by the time Mrs Rushw-' She could not talk about it.

He was not unaffected by this view of the matter, and pressed her hand warmly, 'Dearest Fanny! Your words remind me of the differences which, even then, seemed detrimental to our happiness. If I can only think of her faults now, of that weakness of mind which wrong company had moulded, that want of good sense which she displayed sometimes – and endeavour to forget that amiability of character, that vivacious spirit – I will be soon myself again. I will not think it – those hopes - that her natural levity, which she so used, to amuse those around herself - would complement my serious nature - _they _must be banished forever.'

Fanny would have continued to be mute, without voicing any opinion of these reflections, if she hadn't felt that perhaps, a truer judgement of his lost love's behaviour, if put before him, would help him in overcoming this depression of spirits all the faster. She had always been sure in her own understanding of Mary Crawford's character, but had been held back from expressing it more strongly, from a fear of appearing ill natured and unreasonably censorious. _He_ could not know that such words of hers might also have sprung from petty jealousy; indeed, both the lovers had been unconscious of her true feelings, and she was thankful for that obliviousness. Her conscience had been her only guide then, as well as now; she thought she could now relate her judgement of Mary's character without suffering from qualms and self-doubts about being biased.

'Her affability was, indeed, a quality to be admired, cousin, but sometimes – I have found her sense of humour not quite to my liking', she said gently. 'A clever turn of phrase, a witty repartee – they make her a good conversationist, but I cannot believe that it is clever to be flippant about subjects that were not meant to _be_ so, and her speaking in such a manner has often disturbed me – it pains me to distress you - but you must see that it was so, Edmund.' In a low voice, almost to herself, she said, 'Where one loves, one is perhaps inclined to overlook those small imperfections of character, but surely, in time, those very oversights would come back to haunt one.'

Those last few words, though uttered so softly, caught Edmund's attention, and he glanced at her sharply, but she had turned away. It was the first time - since that irrevocable change, that turn of fate - that he thought of Fanny herself, and he now berated himself for not having considered what she must have been going through. She spoke as if she knew what it was like to form a strong attachment – she must be thinking about Crawford. How thoughtless it was of him, to be so burdening her with his troubles, when she might be equally suffering under recollections of the same nature; and grieving more, by such a vile betrayal of a man – a man who had professed to love her so ardently, and constantly! He had been wrong in supposing her to be suffering the less just because her regard had been new, compared to his; he knew Fanny – her affectionate nature caused her to regard the smallest of acquaintances with warmth – what may not be the state of her mind now? Mary Crawford had told him about her brother's visit to Portsmouth – had that visit succeeded in endearing Henry Crawford more to Fanny? That he could have been so wrong in his estimation of Henry's character – to have considered him a friend! He wished he could ask Fanny to unburden herself to him, but – he could not bring himself to it. She looked so much at peace just then – perhaps Henry Crawford was even now fading from her mind. Edmund would not bring him before her notice again and pain her so. He would take care not to increase her grief by his inconsiderate contemplations.

Love makes selfish beings out of the best of us, and Edmund, surely among the most superior of men in his disposition, had been so led by that emotion into taking his dearest friend for granted; in relieving himself of those melancholy thoughts, he had forgotten to be the recipient of those confidences of hers, which must surely have been forthcoming - if he had not been so self-centred in seeking her patience to bear with his wretched musings. He was filled with guilt; and that helped him harden his heart – he would not impose on her kindness further, by burdening her with his own heartache.

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**A/N : **Thoughts on this chapter?

My thanks to _EternalEvening_, _Vee22_ and _Lucky4Sam_ - your words are definitely motivation for fast updates! ;)


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It is not to be supposed that Nature gives its mortals so much leisure to indulge in meditations of their happiness (or lack thereof) as is implied; indeed, it would be a sad hindrance to the smooth working of the world as we know it, if Memory were not allowed to be weakened by newer pursuits and ideas, and men and women alike, permitted to exist in a state of unchanging perspective.

Edmund was, likewise, assisted in his resolution to dwell less on reminiscences of Mary Crawford by his duties towards his parishioners and his family; and being forced to exert himself to appear even marginally cheerful in their presence, it is to be expected that his spirits would be improved somewhat, even in their absence. He could not be supposed to have left off all thoughts on the subject, and his conversations with Fanny still held the thoughtful tenor of philosophising about past events, but it is believed that there was a general decrease in the despondent nature of his speech.

Fanny, her own spirits in the state of satisfaction brought about by the knowledge of being needed and useful to all those who were important to her, by the very contentment of being returned to Mansfield Park, did much to increase his comfort. Listening to him with sympathetic concern, her thoughts so alike his in every aspect – was it any wonder that he should feel consoled, partially, from the very knowledge that another existed whose temperament was so like his? He _would_ brood over his differences of opinion with Mary, but while Fanny was present, those considerations seemed gradually to lead to the contemplation of _her _own excellent character - that steadiness of principle, which had not wavered despite the coercion of all those around her (in the case of that fateful play) , that unfailing judgement, which had not blinded her to the faults in Henry Crawford's character, despite such marked attentions as he had shown her, and which may have swayed a more experienced woman than a mere girl of eighteen – naïve and guileless – that Fanny had been! Edmund's affection and respect for her increased with this observation, as is natural in such a case; when one has been so highly mistaken in discerning the truth, another's success at the same endeavour is calculated to inspire admiration, unless pre-biased by feelings of envy and resentment.

He had plenty of occasions for reflections of this sort; the narration of a certain Thursday's activities would probably convince the reader of the same. They were seated in the parlour; Edmund had his newspaper, Susan was winding up a few balls of thread for Lady Bertram, and Fanny was reading aloud to her. Lady Bertram was in low spirits; her sister Norris being gone a week now, to join her estranged niece in her isolation, and Fanny had chosen Chaucer, with an intention to cheer her spirits with droll poetry. The words of Sir Thopas' tale were uttered quietly enough in her voice, perhaps to avoid disrupting his concentration, but Edmund was so less interested in the political news and advertisements offered, that his attention was more often on her calm tones than not. She may not have been as skilled as Henry Crawford in the performance, but the emphasis on the exaggerations of the piece was well maintained, and Edmund looked up at a quiver of laughter in her voice, as she related the absurd description of that knight. Her eyes met his in shared amusement, and though her countenance may not have been equal to that of Mary Crawford's in expressing the emotion of archness, the merriment in her eyes seemed to strike Edmund as equally, or probably, _more_ pleasurable; aware as he was, that her entertainment had no foundation in another's ridicule.

As the poets have shown us, it is more probable for a young man, or woman, to lose their hearts on laying eyes on a member of the opposite gender for the first time, than to be smitten with one whom they have known all their life; the reader will recall that this was, indeed, the intention behind Fanny's being brought up alongside the Bertram children from a young age, by the ingenuity of Sir Thomas and Mrs Norris. Fanny had proved them false, however, with her partiality for her cousin, but it is assumed that Edmund, having succumbed once to that emotion by the novelty of acquaintance, was possibly delayed in understanding his own changing feelings for Fanny, by the constraints of that principle.

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**A/N:** Does it seem like Edmund is a tad bit, um, less self-possessed in this story? It's intentional - I believe every good hero in love to be a little less confident, a little nervous, when compared to his normal self. ;)

What'd you think of this chapter?

Thanks to _Lucky4Sam_ and _Vee22 _for reviewing! :)


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

His parochial responsibilities having required his unceasing attention, it was nearly a fortnight since Edmund had entered the gates of Mansfield Park; his filial duties having been neglected for the same period. He had reason to believe that Tom was slowly but steadily improving in health and spirits, Fanny and his father being meticulous correspondents; his eagerness to return to the paternal abode arose not so much from a concern for his ailing brother's lack of entertainment, as his own increasing despondence.

Having discovered that his mother and sibling, likewise, were blissfully lost to the world in a state of slumber, and his remaining parent engaged in a discussion with his steward in the study, Edmund went in search of Fanny, knowing that her company would be sure to soothe his restless thoughts, and put him in a more cheerful frame of mind. The East Room, now furnished with a fire to warm Fanny and turn her thoughts in gratitude towards her uncle for his many kindnesses, was the obvious place to find her; but Edmund perceived, as he neared the room, that he was to be deprived of her society, too: the low voices emerging from the room pronounced that the room had been returned to its former function as a schoolroom, with Susan being tutored by her older sister. He would have entered, but an exclamation from within stopped him in his tracks, and following some unknown impulse, Edmund was reduced to the ignominious act of eavesdropping.

'It's unbearable, Fanny!' came Susan's voice from within. 'Embroidery and knitting are useful pursuits, no doubt, but I find them tedious in the extreme, when practised for such lengthy periods. How I long to roam the grounds, and perhaps, learn to ride: Cousin Edmund did say I was to be allowed to train. I don't understand how you can sit still for hours, while my aunt Bertram chooses to entertain herself in the parlour so placidly!'

Fanny's tone was patience itself, as she replied calmly, 'It is understandable that you should chafe at having to be quiet, Susan, when you have been so used to more active occupation at my mother's house. But I am sure you will agree, on reflection, that it is better to temper such continuous activity with a few moments of peaceful interests. I have found that the time I spend giving my aunt company is well used, for it gives me ample opportunities for contemplation – to ponder on those events that I observe around myself or on those ideas that I may have been introduced to in books – so that every moment is spent in learning something new. You will see that these hours will prove beneficial, as you grow older, my dear, for patience and tolerance are virtues that greatly help in the long run.'

Her outburst having been borne of frustration, Susan was silent in her acceptance of her sister's words, the good sense of which, she was quick to identify; but the effect was greater on Edmund, who observed Fanny in the role of a mentor, with mingled surprise and pride. Of her sterling principles and worth he had neither ignorance nor doubt, but it was a novel experience for him to view her in the responsible position of a guide, having always thought of her as a pupil. That she could instruct someone so ably, without losing that sweetness of manner so unique to herself, was an idea most agreeable, and one, moreover, that was certain to increase his respect for her even more.

Every person, in the course of his or her lifetime, commits the mistake of taking another for granted, particularly when the latter may be an intimate acquaintance, of long standing. Such an error is soon rectified by Fate, as Edmund had discovered, time and again, being surprised by Fanny's resolve in refusing to perform in the play, her steadfastness in refusing Crawford's suit, and now, through this new facet of her character.

He entered the East Room, surprising his studious cousins, and was met with exclamations of joy. Fanny was always happy to see him, and Susan was exhorted into finishing her schoolwork faster, in a bid to impress her Cousin Edmund, and remind him of the promised riding lesson. And Edmund found tranquillity in the calm hour that followed; in helping Fanny teach his younger cousin, and teasing her on the many questions that arise in curious, youthful minds when introduced to new concepts and ideas.

Later in the evening, as the family convened for tea, Sir Bertram addressed his second son about a new neighbour he was to acquire. 'Colonel Daniel Russell was a former acquaintance of mine; we were, in fact, schoolmates at Eton. I had received news from him that he and his lady will be moving into Fareworth House this month: he has recently retired from the navy, with a bad leg, I believe. It would be proper of me to call on him to welcome him to the neighbourhood, so I will accompany you when you return to Thornton Lacey tomorrow.'

Edmund acquiesced, but reminded of Susan's complaint, proposed an alternate arrangement. 'My cousins have not been about since their arrival from Portsmouth, sir. It would be my pleasure if they could accompany you and grace my table for lunch, if my mother could spare their presence.' Sir Thomas would perhaps have been in full concord with such a programme, but his lady was roused out of her usual torpor into vehemently protesting against such a plan. Susan and Fanny both gone, for nearly a whole day? It would never do! How would she go about, with no Sir Bertram, and only poor Tom, who had not yet fully recovered to arise from his sickbed, for company? It could not be imagined how they would carry on. Either Susan or Fanny must stay.

This naturally led to the sort of good-natured, selflessly sacrificing talk from the sisters, each one urging the other to accompany their uncle and cousin; Fanny being convinced that Susan was in need of greater entertainment , and Susan sure of Fanny being in need of a change in scenery. The debate was resolved by Sir Thomas, who had heard out their protestations in complacence. 'No, there is no need for either of you to forego the delight of paying your cousin a visit. I will visit the Colonel tomorrow, as decided, and all of us will visit you for lunch in the next week, Edmund. That will give your cook enough time to be prepared to feed all of us, and your cousins enough time to ponder on the pleasure of seeing you in your domain.' His pronouncement was met with joyful agreement on all sides, and a date in the succeeding week was fixed for the visit.

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**A/N:** I'm so, _so _sorry this took so long! Edmund travels slowly but surely down the path of love, and I'll try my best to relate this story faster!

Special thanks to _EternalEvening,theredrobin,Mikro,cutecanuck,Paulina _and Mamabear : your words are what keep the 'FFNet' part of my conscience pricking, leading to further updates! ;)

Thanks to all those who've favourited, and are following this story : I'd be _very_ gratified to know your opinions on the same!

What'd you think of this chapter?


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